


trick or treat

by pocky_slash



Category: Captain America (Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Ghosts, Halloween, Haunting, M/M, Old mutants in love, Trick or Treating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:51:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3061637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Halloween ficlet collection.</p><p><strong>Chapter One:</strong> Armando/Alex - Strange going on in a library study room.<br/><strong>Chapter Two:</strong> Charles/Erik - Erik learns to appreciate Halloween with some help from Kurt.<br/><strong>Chapter Three:</strong> Moira/Nick - The walls are bleeding.<br/><strong>Chapter Four:</strong> Sam/Steve - Handing out candy to trick-or-treaters in costume.<br/><strong>Chapter Five:</strong> Charles/Erik - There's no way that doll is really following Erik around the mansion.<br/><strong>Chapter Six:</strong> Moira/Nick - A family Halloween costume.<br/><strong>Chapter Seven:</strong> Charles/Erik - Ghost stories around the campfire.<br/><strong>Chapter Eight:</strong> Charles saves Halloween. Erik tolerates it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. after hours

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of Halloween ficlets I did this year on Tumblr.
> 
>  **Chapter One:** For **mienuxbleu** : Alex/Darwin, "it’s 3 am and I’m still in the library studying for finals and I’m losing my grip on reality and I think I just saw a ghost."

Armando absolutely does not believe in ghosts. Absolutely. Does not.

Except, well--his Nan is pretty sharp and she _knows_ things and she maybe has a point when she says that in a world where Armando can breathe underwater and his boyfriend can level a building if he sneezes wrong, maybe ghosts aren't the most unbelievable thing in the world.

If his mentor, Charles, could hear his thoughts right now, he'd tell Armando that he's being ridiculous, that mutations have basis in science, that ghosts are the result of folklore and fairytales and a desire to find meaning and sense of self in life. But Charles can't hear him--it's 3am and Charles is probably at home in bed with his husband. Wherever he is, it isn't the back corner of the science library, where Armando swears he can hear someone whispering his name.

He rubs at his eyes and tries to suppress a shiver as he pulls out his cellphone.

"Yeah?" Alex says when he picks up, three rings later. He sounds wired. He's been mainlining coffee since they stopped at 7-11 on the way to campus at nine this morning. Armando can probably go for about another full day without sleep before his body shut down, but that doesn't mean he's not tired himself.

"Uh, are you still in the library?" Armando asks.

"Yeah, I'm down in--" Alex yawns loud enough that Armando thinks his own jaw might crack in sympathy. "--down in the archives looking at some old history shit for my final."

"Is anything--" There's the whispering again, just out of his reach, which is really something for someone with superhearing.

"What?" Alex asks.

"Is there anything weird going on down there?" Armando asks.

"Uh, not really," Alex says. "Unless you count Angel actually liking this history crap as weird."

"Shut up," Armando hears Angel say in the distance. "I'm doing this for you, Summers. I'm already going to ace the final."

"Yeah, yeah," Alex mutters to her. "Anyway, why do you ask?"

"Uh," Armando says. The lights flicker. "No reason. When you're done, do you want to come over to the science library and sit with me until I finish up?"

"Nah, it's cool, Angel said she'd give me a ride back to the apartment when we're done."

The whispers are definitely saying his name. And the room is definitely a few degrees cooler than it was before.

"Please?" he says. He gives up trying to be casual. "Could you please come over here when you're done?"

Alex hesitates.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course," he says. "I just gotta write a couple more of these things down and I can make up the rest--"

"You can NOT!" Angel shouts in the background.

"--and I'll be over in like, ten minutes?"

"Good," Armando says. "That's--good, I'll see you soon."

He hangs up and places the phone on the table and looks around the room. He should just leave. He should pack up his books and find Alex and go home. He might be able to stay up for days without being tired, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have weird effects on his brain. He's seeing things, he's hearing things, that's all. And he _really_ needs to study.

He concentrates on his book, on the words on the page, on absorbing as much knowledge as he can as quickly as he can.

The whispering doesn't stop.

Frustrated, he pulls out his earbuds and sticks them into his phone, hitting play without even pausing to check to see what he has playing. A podcast about classic movies starts blaring too loudly, the volume jacked up so that it plays correctly when plugged into his car. He turns it down quickly and forces himself to focus on the book in front of him again, not on the noise he can no longer hear (is it still going on now that he's not paying attention?) or the coldness of the room or the occasional flickering lights. He reads the lines on the page until he memorizes them, burning the text into his brain and blocking out everything else until he notices the shadows moving out of the corner of his eye and hears the creak of the door just barely audible under his podcast. He sighs with relief and pulls his ear buds out as he looks up.

"It's about time, man--" he starts to say, but his jaw drops, mouth hanging open, as his eyes fall on the open doorway.

That's not Alex.

The young, translucent figure hovering a foot off the ground is not Alex. Definitely, definitely not Alex.

He stumbles backwards from the table, knocking over his chair and the stack of books next to him, unable to pull his eyes away. He should shout. He should run. He should--

"Hey, Darwin?"

Alex's voice pulls him from his stupor, glancing past the figure and towards the staircase at the far end of the hall. When he looks back, still speechless, the--whatever it was--is gone.

He doesn't waste any time. He scoops all of his books into his bag, shoves pens and his phone and his highlighters into his pockets, and sprints to the stairwell before Alex can even finish climbing it.

"Hey," Alex says, nearly toppling backwards down the staircase. "Don't you need to sign out and--"

"Nevermind, just _go_ ," Armando says, rushing him down the stairs and towards the lobby of the science library.

He may not believe in ghosts, but he's not prepared to put that theory to the test tonight. He'd rather remain ignorant than face the truth, at least right now, and while normally that kind of thinking is the sort of thing that gets people politely kicked out of Charles' classes, he thinks if the professor was here, he might agree with Armando.

He'll finish studying at home. And maybe call his grandmother.


	2. Halloween at the Xavier-Lehnsherr Academy, 1985

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For **listerinezero**

Erik has been at the school nearly a year. It feels more like a lifetime.

He blames himself for that. It's the survival tactic he's used the most over the years, the one he's clung to as he's moved from one phase of his life to the next. Anger is transferable. Revenge is transferable. The rest of it is useless, and so the man who hunted Klaus Schmidt has none of the frailties of the boy who was ripped from his home and shipped off to the ghetto and then the camps. Magneto did not contain the softness of the man who allowed himself to be coaxed into happiness by Charles Xavier. And now, Professor Lehnsherr has locked up Magneto and put him out of his mind entirely. A lifetime slotted neatly into place in the vast metal cabinets of Erik's memory, not to be thought of. It's as if he's always been here, working at the school, living with these young mutants, sharing Charles' bed. He fell easily into the routine, and so he's surprised to have himself shaken out of it when classes are canceled on Friday, November 1.

"What's this?" he asks Charles over breakfast, waving the memo at him. Charles rolls his eyes behind his reading glasses, and keeps sipping his tea.

"It's a memorandum issued to all staff and students reminding them that there are no classes this Friday," Charles says.

"You know what I meant," Erik says. "Why are there no classes on Friday?"

"It's the day after Halloween," Charles says. "We always give them the day off after Halloween since they're out so late."

Erik tsks, but Charles doesn't rise to the bait, choosing instead to butter a piece of toast.

"It's a special day for many of them," Charles says without looking up. "I forgot that this is your first. Most of the students go down to the town to trick or treat or go to the party at the rec center. They can be themselves without hiding, on this of all days, and it's important to many of them, especially those with physical mutations."

"They should be able to be themselves every day," Erik mutters.

"And you know I agree with that, but until we reach such a time, this is the best we can do and they very much look forward to it, so please keep any comments to yourself." He does look up then, eyes narrowing as he gazes at Erik across the table. If nothing else, Erik has learned to pick his battles over the past eleven and a half months. He and Charles may have worked through their differences, for the most part, but this Charles--commanding, respectable, confident, grounded--is not as easily swayed as the young man Erik fell in love with. His school and his students are his first priority, and Erik has learned better than to hurt either of them if he wants to continue to share Charles' bed.

"I have no comments to make," Erik lies, and Charles snorts and goes back to his breakfast as the rest of the staff begin to appear in the dining room.

***

Erik doesn't intend to break the implicit promise to Charles--he's not going to ruin the day of a child by poo-pooing their holiday. For one thing, the last time he made a child cry, albeit by accident, he felt terrible for weeks. He used to make his recruits cry regularly. He used to mock them for the show of emotion. This is different, though, the shaping of the lives of these children, and he acknowledges that causing a teenager so much stress that they break down in tears does not have the same effect as it does when the person in question is an adult who compromised a mission for their own greedy purposes.

He's not above, however, sharing his opinion if asked, so perhaps he lingers in the common room looking disgruntled a little longer than he normally would. He hasn't delivered one of his periodic reminders that they're the dominant race and should act that way in weeks, and he's past due.

None of the students ask him about his foul expression, however, even the youngest ones who always seem to be getting into things. Instead, they flit around excitedly comparing notes and helping each other with costumes. Halloween is still three days away, but the spirit has clearly moved them already and it's all anyone will talk about.

"Uncle Erik!" Kurt says, appearing in front of Erik in a puff of sulfuric smoke. "Mama says you can help me with my costume!"

It's impossible to say no to Kurt, who's thirteen, now, polite and easy-going and even-tempered and kind. He's the polar opposite of both of his biological parents, taking after Irene if anything, but most likely merely absorbing the best qualities of those around him--his mother's strength and temerity, Irene's patience and kindness, Charles' curiosity and enthusiasm. It's probably for the best that Erik hasn't been a steady part of his life up until recently.

They settle in the library as Kurt details every part of his pirate costume, though it's really only the sword he needs assistance with. He uses his image inducer to show Erik the costume in detail several times, including the sword, so Erik can replicate it ("With a dull edge, Mama says, or else we're both in trouble.") out of a handful of misshapen flatware and some pocket change.

"I don't understand why you're putting all of this work into a costume you can put on more easily with the use of that watch," Erik mutters as he concentrates on shaping the handle to Kurt's specifications.

"Because I don't _have_ to use the watch," Kurt says, rocking on his heels as he watches Erik work. "I could use the watch to look like whatever I want to keep people from freaking out, but on Thursday night I can look like myself, just like all the other kids." He pauses. "Well, myself, but a cool pirate!"

Erik looks up from the sword and at Kurt's excited smile. "It's like Mama says," Kurt continues, barely noticing Erik's pause. "Being you shouldn't be hard, but it is and there's no shame in taking shortcuts to make it easier, like the image inducer. But it's nice that there's at least one time of the year when you don't need a shortcut, right?"

"Right," Erik begrudgingly admits.

"Are you coming to the party in town?" Kurt asks. "Mama and Irene sometimes come but Uncle Charles usually stays here with the little kids once they get back from trick-or-treating."

"We'll see," Erik says. He's willing to concede the holiday to Charles and his enthusiasm this once, but he's not about to broadcast that.

It's too late, though, for in the back of his mind, there's a flash of Charles' presence, cool and slick like laughter.

Oh well. If he's learned one thing since putting away Magneto for good, it's that Professor Lehnsherr doesn't mind occasionally giving in to Charles, especially when it brings those around him this much joy.

_Wait until you see the costume I picked out for you,_ Charles murmurs in his head.

"There's a limit, Charles," he says out loud, staring irately at the ceiling, but all he gets in response is more of that crisp, cool laughter and a burst of affection that leaves him smiling for the rest of the afternoon.


	3. the walls are bleeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For **ang3lsh1** : Moira/Nick. The walls are bleeding even if the other can't see that. There's something wrong with this place.

"I'm not crazy," is the first thing that Nick says when Moira picks up the phone, so she can already tell this is going to be a long day.

"That's frequently up for debate," Moira says, twirling her chair around so she's facing the wall, the closest she can get to privacy here at her desk. "What's up, babe?"

"There is something fucking wrong with this house," he says. "There is something really fucking fucked up about this house."

"We probably just forgot to set the clock," Moira says, even though she's almost positive that she's set it twice now, despite the fact that it keeps stopping at 12:07. "Or it needs new batteries or something, I don't know."

"It's not just the clock," Nick says. "It's not just the noises that I know you say are the pipes but I have lived in some rundown shitty ass apartments and I have never heard pipes sound like that. It's not just the way the back door fucking 'blows open'--" She can almost see the air quotes. "--every night. It's not the busted lightbulbs or the creepy cellar. It's not the fucking cemetery at the top of the hill or the fact that Phil ran wouldn't go into the house and ran away when we tried to tie him up outside."

Moira is ticking off her fingers. As far as she knows, that's all the weird shit that's been happening in the house since they moved in, save for some weird shit she's seen in mirrors that she's decided not to tell Nick about quite yet.

"Okay, that's everything that's wrong with the house," she says. "If it's not that, what is it?"

"The fucking walls are fucking _bleeding_!" Nick shouts into the phone loud enough that Moira has to pull the receiver away from her face, wincing and glancing around to see if anyone else has heard.

No one's paying her any heed, though, so she puts it back up against her ear and says, "What the hell are you talking about?" in a harsh whisper, just in case.

On her desk, her cellphone chirps. She unburies it from a pile of papers and slides open a new message from Nick. There's a picture attached.

She blinks, staring at it. The walls are most certainly bleeding.

She opens her desk and pulls out her gun holster, re-buckling it to her belt as she grabs her purse.

"I'll be home in five," she tells Nick, and swears under her breath as she hangs up the phone and sprints out to her car.

Whatever the hell is in their new house has no idea who it's messing with. No one crosses SHIELD agents, especially not SHEILD agents who are cranky from forced medical leave and pregnancy hormones. This ghost is going to wish it never died in the first place.


	4. USA Hero and the Flying Airman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For **bitterchord** : Sam/Steve, costumes. Like Steve is a little shit so he bets Sam that they could dress in $15 Cap/Falcon costumes while giving out candy and no one would recognize them. They make a lot of little kids super excited that halloween without their parents having any idea why.

"You wouldn't sign off on the likeness rights?" Sam asks, and Steve turns from examining the red plastic gel spelling out "BEWARE!!!" to where Sam is behind him holding up--

Well. Holding up a child's USA HERO costume, a costume that looks suspiciously close to the one SHIELD designed for him prior to the Battle of New York.

He can't help but smile as he takes the bag from Sam to examine it closer.

"USA Hero?" Sam prompts, poking him in the arm.

"Stark mentioned it right after the Battle," Steve says. He's been in quite a few battles, but there's only one in his mind that deserves a capital B. "Apparently people were clamoring for merchandise. Something about marketing and rights, but what I got from it is that Stark owns the rights to Iron Man and the Hulk, Thor is technically public domain, but SHIELD and the government technically hold the trademark on me, Nat, and Clint."

"You'd think with the state SHIELD is in, they'd be happy to sell that stuff off to bring in a little money," Sam says, but Steve is back to examining the bag. The costume is made of some sort of stretchy synthetic material, mostly navy blue with red and white detailing at the waist (horizontal to the vertical on the original costume) and a big white letter A in the center of the chest, which is padded into a squishy set of pectoral and abdominal muscles. There's a face mask included with a big white star on the forehead and a round red, white, and blue shield with an American flag in the center.

"I bet the real fans will be looking up how to make their own on the inter--well, _shit_!"

Steve looks up again--Sam is back to browsing costumes, but he's stopped dead, his jaw hanging open. Steve crosses over to him and has to laugh.

"Flying Airman?" he asks, unhooking the costume from shelf. This one is a dark grey jumpsuit with brown detailing, goggles, and attachable nylon wings. There's a big disclaimer, even right on the front, that the wings are not intended for literal use, et cetera, but without a doubt, this is a knock-off costume based on Sam, who's embraced the media's moniker of "Falcon."

"Look at that," Sam says, and whistles. "Hold it still, I want to take a picture and send it to my sister and my mom."

Sam pulls out his phone and snaps a picture, then says, "Come over here and hold them up." Steve catches on quickly, holding up both costumes while Sam slips an arm around his waist and extends the other with his phone, snapping a picture of the two of them with the costumes."

Steve stares down at them while Sam fires off the texts and says, "You know, I think we can do them one better. Where are the grown-up costumes?"

***

"Trick or treat!" a chorus of children on the doorstep cheer.

"Look!" says the mother to a little boy at the back, "He's dressed like Falcon, just like you!"

Steve holds out his arms to show off his fake wings before dropping a few pieces of candy into each open bag.

"Falcon's my favorite hero," he says to the little boy, who's staring at him, wide-eyed. It's always the kids who get it.

"But you're not Falcon, you're Captain America!" the boy whispers.

"No, honey, he's Falcon," Mom says, but she's only half paying attention, wrangling the other kids who are starting to disperse now that they have their candy. She barely glanced at Steve when he opened the door, except to take in his costume, definitely more concerned with the kids' manners than whoever was giving out candy.

"But Mom!" the boy says. Mom is attending to a tiny ballerina whose wand is tangled in her candy bag, so Steve kneels down to the boy's level.

"Who's your favorite hero?" he asks.

"You are!" the boy says, and Steve gives him an extra piece of candy for that.

"He's mine too," says Sam, appearing behind Steve in the USA Hero outfit. The boy looks like a feather could knock him over. The mask is pushed up on Sam's forehead, clearly displaying his face. Steve likes to think it's distinctive enough to remember, even if Sam hasn't been plastered over quite as many magazine covers as Steve yet ("Give them time," Steve had muttered darkly when Sam half-jokingly pointed that out), but then, Steve is probably more fond of it than most people.

"Jordie, come on!" Mom yells, and Jordie shouts back, "But _MOM_!"

Steve holds a finger up to his lips and winks. Jordie, still shocked, attempts to wink back and when he can't manage it, raises a hand to his face to hold one eye open while he blinks the other. Sam reaches into Steve's candy bowl to throw another handful of pieces into Jordie's bag. At this point, they're probably going to be personally responsible for ruining his appetite for the next two weeks.

"Happy Halloween, Jordie!" Sam calls as Jordie runs after his mother and the other kids, nearly tripping over his fake wings. "I told you it would be more fun doing it this way," he says to Steve once Jordie is back with his mom and their group of trick-or-treaters.

"You're right," Steve admits, smacking Sam's hand away from stealing yet another tiny Snickers bar for himself.

"Although I still say you should have let me use the real shield," Sam adds, holding up the floppy plastic shield that came with the costume.

"Maybe next year," Steve says. "Another group is coming up the path--this time you open the door, USA Hero."

"Whatever you say, Flying Airman," Sam says.


	5. creepy dolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For **ourgirlfriday**

The first night, Erik is too tired to do more than ascertain where the exits are and work on cataloging the metal around his room. He convinces himself that's enough training for the day, a day that started in another time zone halfway around the world and ended in a six hour drive in a car stuffed with three teenage boys. He comes up to his room after dinner, too tired, even, for a chess game with Charles, who is equally unsteady on his feet. He takes a shower, he gives a cursory glance around the room, and he changes for bed.

He falls asleep memorizing the layout of the pipes in the walls. He wakes up, refreshed for his morning run, and sees the doll for the first time.

It's a porcelain recreation of a little girl in a frilly yellow dress. It looks like it's staring at him, but all dolls stare, don't they? It's not as if they can move their eyes. He thinks, distantly, it must be a childhood relic of Raven's, but past that, he pays it little mind, gets out of bed, and changes into his running clothes.

The sun has just barely risen. Even once he's finished with his run (looping around the vast estate, memorizing the layout of the house, the entrances and exits, the roads and paths leading into the woods and away that will need further investigation), no one else save Moira is awake, and the word only applies to her on a technicality as she stands at the stove, staring at the coffeepot as it heats. He mutters a vague greeting that she returns with a jerky, distracted wave, and goes back to his room to shower and dress for the day.

He pauses as he's stripping off his shirt, frowning at the dresser. He was sure the doll was facing the bed this morning. He remembers it staring at him when he woke up, but it's face isn't visible from the bed, now.

It's no matter, he tells himself as he continues to the en suite. He probably moved it himself when he was dressing, without even thinking of it.

He hesitates when he steps out of the shower because now he knows, he _knows_ the doll was facing the door. It certainly wasn't facing the bathroom. But there it is, it's tiny, perfectly made-up face staring at him as he steps back into the room to get dressed.

One of the teenagers is playing a trick on him, that has to be it. He knows that Charles is unlikely to do anything about it, citing the emotional turmoil of the past few days, but that won't keep him from taking matters into his own hands.

He dresses and marches upstairs, doll in hand, ready with a lecture for whichever of the miscreants he finds awake, but he's met with three closed doors that reveal, upon being opened, three sleepy, confused teenage boys. The only other occupied room on that floor belongs to Moira, and for all that he doesn't trust her, he knows she must be more mature than this.

Back downstairs he visits Raven first. She's newly out of her own shower, bundled in a bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her red hair.

"Care to explain this?" he asks, holding out the doll.

"Uh, it's a doll?" Raven says. She rubs her eyes and yawns. "I think it was Sharon's--Charles' mom. She had a whole collection of them. She gave me a bunch as birthday presents, but they always creeped me out and I found ways to get rid of them."

"No," Erik says, through his teeth. "Why did you put it in my room?"

" _I_ didn't put it anywhere," Raven says. "Like I said, I hate those things. It was probably left there by the staff or by Sharon before she died."

"No," Erik repeats, "It--" He realizes almost too late that 'it moved' sounds completely illogical. "Where's Charles?" he asks instead.

"Probably in bed, wishing he didn't have to get out of it," Raven says. " _That_ I figured you would know." She raises her eyebrows, but he ignores her commentary and stomps down the hall to Charles' room, conveniently located across the hall from his own.

"Charles?" he says, perhaps a little more harshly than he intended, as he barrels into the room. True to Raven's prediction and Erik's observations after weeks spent sharing hotel rooms and bed across the country, Charles is still tangled in his sheets, blinking owlishly at Erik and looking half-asleep.

"Erik?" he says. "Is something wrong?"

Erik thrusts the doll forward, but Charles says nothing, clearly waiting for further explanation.

"This was in my room," Erik says.

"They're in most the rooms, honestly," Charles says. He pushes himself up, rubbing at his eyes. His pajama shirt is half unbuttoned and Erik forces himself not to focus on that distraction. "My mother collected the wretched things. There's a whole room of them on the other side of the house and they just...spread everywhere else." He untangles the sheets and gets out of bed, stretching until his back pops. "We did try to keep them out of our wing. They terrified Raven as a child. I suppose we didn't catch all of them, though."

He crosses to where Erik is standing and looks up at him expectantly. Erik is still irate, but it's hard to hold onto the feeling while Charles is standing in front of him, sloppily dressed, still sleepy, and clearly fishing for physical affection. Erik rolls his eyes and tries to look put upon, but he can tell Charles sees right through it, eagerly slipping his arms around Erik's neck as Erik puts the doll on the closest flat surface to pull Charles close for a kiss.

***

Erik mostly forgets about the doll after that. He spends the day training and strategizing and cooking. After dinner, he plays a long game of chess with Charles, that transitions upstairs with a bottle of scotch. Charles' whispered shushing as they climb up the stairs is almost comical, though the only other person with a room on their floor is his sister, who seems to have already cottoned on to the strategic placement of Erik's bedroom and what they got up to on their long recruiting trip.

"Do you have...?" Charles asks and makes an obscene gesture that Erik interprets as "vaseline." He nods and leaves Charles pouting on the bed to retrieve it from across the hall in his travel bag. He notices on the way that the doll has been replaced on his dresser, probably Charles' idea of a joke and one that he won't bother admonishing him over now. Instead, he takes the canister  closes the door of his bedroom, and returns to Charles', where Charles has made short work of his clothing and is presenting himself in quite the enticing fashion, sprawled elegantly on the bed.

Erik doesn't think about the doll again for a long time.

***

Erik's internal clock wakes him as usual and Charles groans when Erik snaps awake, burrowing further under the blankets, face pressed against Erik's bare chest.

"This is the trade-off," Charles mumbles sleepily, his speech slurred and thick. "A bloody gorgeous, brilliant, fit man in my bed each night and in return he wakes up with the sun."

"You can keep sleeping," Erik tells him, though he doesn't hesitate to let his own judgement on that bleed through the words. Not that that's stopped Charles before.

"I plan to," Charles replies.

Erik dislodges his arms and sits up in bed, allowing Charles to embrace his pillow instead, but he freezes before he goes any further.

"Did you do this?" he asks, the early morning affection gone, his voice flat and hard and sharp. Charles forces his eyes open when Erik brandishes the doll in his face.

"I haven't a clue what you're on about," Charles says. "It's the same place you left it yesterday." He tries to pull a pillow over his face, but Erik tugs it away.

"No," he says, "it's not. It was in my room last night. I saw it there. I know it was there. Someone put this here while we were sleeping."

"You're being ridiculous," Charles says. He sits up, his good humor gone, his expression irate. "You must have mistaken seeing it across the hall."

"I did not," Erik says. "Read my mind if you don't believe me."

Charles rolls his eyes, but he does as he's told. Erik can tell, not only from the gentle brush against his consciousness that Charles provides as a courtesy to let Erik know he's there, but from the way his scowl turns into a frown.

"Hm," he says. "Perhaps one of the children--"

He raises his fingers to his forehead and closes his eyes.

Then he opens them quickly and jerks as far away from Erik as he can, as quickly as he can.

"What?" Erik asks. "What is it? Was it one of the kids?"

"No," Charles says, his voice pitched higher than usual. "No one in the house is awake except us," he says. Then, hands shaking, he points at the doll. "And that."


	6. family costume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For **analise010** : Trick or treat prompt: Moira/Nick + family costume. :D?

Everything in the Xavier attic is covered in a layer of dust so thick it's hard to see what's beneath it. It's taking everything Moira has not to start sneezing and keep at it until they're back downstairs on firmer ground.

"She said it was up here?" Erik asks her dubiously.

"She said up the stairs, second door on the right," Moira says, so they keep picking across the floor, leaving sneaker prints in the dust, until Erik reaches the door in question. He puts some elbow grease into it and manages to pull the door open with only one ominous cracking sound.

The boxes on the other side of the door are less dusty and immediately Moira has more faith in Raven's directions. While the objects in the main room of the attic look universally old, antique, and unused, in here the cardboard boxes look newer, a pink boombox is sitting on the floor, and various cartoon characters from the 80s are plastered on toys.

"Okay, I take it back, I guess she has a good memory," Erik says.

"Let's put that to the test," Moira says as Erik wades into the room. "She says it's a box labeled old costumes and it should be--"

"Against the wall, near the top?" Erik asks, and turns around holding the box in question.

"Perfect!" Moira says. Erik sets it on a plastic Ninja Turtles children's table and rips the tape from across the top. Underneath a pirate outfit and a very intricate recreation of Sally from _Nightmare Before Christmas_ , Moira finds a long, frilly pink and white dress. "And here we go."

"Well, I'm glad, if nothing else, to learn that refusal to throw anything out ever is a genetic condition," Erik says.

"I'm glad Raven at sixteen was tall enough that I should still fit into this," Moira says. Erik replaces the tape on the box and then lifts it back into place, then gestures for Moira to lead the way back to the main part of the house.

"I still want to know what this family costume of yours is," Erik says.

"You'll see at the party," Moira says. "Knowing in advance will absolutely ruin the best part."

"If you say so," Erik says.

"What about you guys?" Moira asks. "Have you been roped into doing a sickeningly cute family costume too?"

"Lorna is dressing as Wonder Woman, so no, thank god," Erik says. "She said boy superheroes are, quote, the worst, so no tights for me."

"Charles must be so disappointed," Moira says.

"Well, he gets to be Captain Kirk, so probably not," Erik says.

"And you're Spock?"

"No, I'll probably do the Frankenstein monster again."

"You can't do the same thing every year."

"Says who? What's Nick doing, then?"

"Nice try, Lehnsherr," Moira says. They've made their way back to the foyer now, and she waves as she heads towards the door. "You'll see next weekend."

***

Nicky's excitement, while sweet and understandable, is putting a damper on Moira's attempts to secure his fake wings.

"Buzz Lightyear to the rescue!" he shouts, extending his arm and adding sound effects as he presses a button and projects his laser pointer at Kevin.

"What are the rules, Nicky?" Moira says, batting his hand down and then continuing to snap his wings on.

"No pointing the laser at any other kids and no grown-ups in the face," he says.

"He pointed it in my eye, Mama!" Kevin whines.

"He did not, Kev, I saw it," Moira says. "Why don't you go see if Daddy's ready, okay?"

"Okay!" Kevin says, and jumps to his feet so fast his cowboy hat flutters to the ground. He turns around and runs back for it, then clamors for the stairs shouting, "DADDY! ARE YOU READY?" as he scales them.

Moira adjusts the last of Nicky's costume, then steps back to admire her work. Sure, most of it was bought off the internet, but it still looks adorable and ten times better than the cheap ones they were selling at Target.

"Alright, Buzz, why don't you take a look at yourself in the mirror?" she asks, slowly getting to her feet in the voluminous frilly pink and white dress, buoyed by several petticoats. Raven's recycled Marie Antoinette dress isn't a perfect replica of Bo Peep's, but the addition of several pink felt circles to the skirt got it Nicky and Kevin's approval. Nicky hops over towards the mirror and admires himself while gasping.

"Awesome!" he says. "Buzz Lightyear: Space Ranger!"

"I'm glad you like it, buddy," she says. "Now we just need Daddy and Kev to come back and we'll head over to Lorna's for the party."

"Lorna's gonna be WONDER WOMAN," Nicky says. "We're gonna fight bad guys."

"Better than being bad guys, I suppose," Moira murmurs to herself, although she has a feeling the lines between 'good guys' and 'bad guys' are going to blur once they're loaded up with sugar.

"Alright," Nick says from the top of the stairs, "Let's do this before I change my mind."

Moira manages not to laugh, but she can't help her smile as Nick descends the stairs. Far from his usual head-to-toe black or even his traditional Halloween pirate costume, he's wearing white slacks and a white sweatshirt that's hidden by heaps and heaps of fuzzy cotton stuffing that's been tamed and sprayed into place with spray adhesive. There's a fuzzy beanie on his head with sheep ears hanging down and his nose has been painted pink. Popping out of the massive fuzzy middle section are two more heads. Moira pulls her phone out and snaps a quick picture.

"I'm going to get you back for this," Nick says to her over the excited shouts of Nicky and Kevin, jumping up and down and back and forth excitedly.

"No you're not," Moira says.

"Lehnsherr is never going to let me forget this," Nick mutters.

"That's probably true, yes," Moira says.

"People are going to take pictures and put them on Facebook," Nick adds, darkly.

"Most definitely," Moira says. That's where hers are going, for one.

"The things I do for those two monsters." He shakes his head, but there's a hint of a smile fighting to get out and Moira knows that Nick had just as much fun making this costume with the boys as they did. "All right, crew, let's saddle up and get moving."

Moira picks up her staff and slips her arm into Nick's.

"Better stay close to make sure you don't get lost," she says.

"Do you have some freaky animal fetish you haven't told me about?" Nick asks.

"No, just one for attractive men in eyepatches who are willing to look like idiots on the internet because their kids asked nicely," Moira says, and manages to kiss him before he groans again.

"No matter how many pictures I untag, this is never going to fucking die, is it?" he says.

"Chin up, babe," she says. "Most people will think it's adorable, your kids are happy, and I'm going to make it up to you later."

"You are?" Nick asks, arching an eyebrow.

"I am," Moira says. She kisses him again.

"Well, then, lead up, Bo Peep," Nick says, and gestures for her to join the boys, excitedly chattering about the party as they put on their shoes, in leading the way out towards the car.


	7. around the campfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For **pearlo** : charles/erik, campfire ghost stories!

Charles breaks about a dozen of his personal rules to double and triple check that his mother and Kurt will be gone for the weekend, but even after that he makes Erik traipse out into the woods to set a fire in the fire pit after dark.

"I just want to make sure," he insists to Erik, kissing him quickly in hopes that will soften his skepticism. "Just in case."

"This is stupid," Erik says, but he does it anyway, riding his bike out into the woods, setting a fire, and sitting by it alone until Charles has looked out towards the trees from every window on that side of the house and seen nothing worth note.

Charles is, perhaps, overexcited about his upcoming Halloween party. It's the first party of any stripe that he's thrown, mostly because it's the first time Kurt and his mother have left him alone for any stretch of time, joining some society friends on a cruise that has him and Raven taking up the whole of the Xavier house on their own for two weeks.

Well, and Erik, who's basically moved in for the duration, ostensibly so Charles and Raven don't get lonely, though Charles is rather sure Mrs. Lehnsherr sees right through that.

He's excited, is the point, though. He's always loved Halloween. He scares easily, but he likes that about it--he likes being scared, he likes dressing up, he likes all the trappings of spookiness and fear. He's sure there's probably some terrible psychological reason behind all of that, but for the moment he's content not to look too deeply. Erik has a similar fondness for the holiday, though he takes it a step farther--he loves haunted houses and horror movies and scary stories in a way that goes far past Charles' affection for Halloween. Raven, on the other hand, is highly skeptical of the whole affair, probably because she's still smarting about last Halloween, when Charles accidentally scared her so badly she woke up the whole house and they both got in trouble for a week.

She's still amenable to a party, though, though she has no affection for a holiday based on something she can do a dozen times a day without any effort, and he loves her for that, among other things. She doesn't share his paranoia about Kurt and Mother's possible sudden return, however, so she's watching television while Charles makes sure their secret location for the second half of the party will stay secret should anyone return.

_You can come back, you can't see the fire from the house,_ Charles says.

_I have to wait for it to go out, I told you,_ Erik says. _It could take a while._

_On_ Are You Afraid of the Dark? _they always just poured a bucket of water over the fire,_ Charles replies.

_Well, the Midnight Society practiced poor fire safety skills,_ Erik says. Then, more tentative because it's impossible to hide those things when speaking mind to mind, _You can come sit with me._

Charles hadn't really planned anything else for the night. It's Thursday, his homework is done, and he'd figured they'd watch a movie together.

"Raven!" he shouts. "Erik and I are going into the woods! If you need us--" He gives her a mental poke in demonstration and she projects an eyeroll back at him.

"Whatever!" she calls back from down the hall.

Charles takes his bike down along the same path Erik did until he sees the flicker of fire in the distance and hops off, walking it the rest of the way. Erik is sprawled on the ground with his back against a log, poking the the fire with a long stick. Charles leaves his bike leaning against a tree and sits down next to him.

"So," he says. "Now that we're down here, what do you suppose we should do?"

Erik stretches his arm back, snug around Charles' shoulders.

"Well," Erik says, "We could tell ghost stories, we could stare into the fire, we could make out..."

He tries to punctuate it with a kiss to Charles' jaw, but Charles has sat up, grinning.

"Ghost stories!" he says. "It would be good practice for the party!"

"I was kind of hoping you'd go for the 'making out' option," Erik says. It's good-natured grumbling, though, and he rearranges his position in front of the fire with an arm still tucked around Charles. "Do you even know any ghost stories? You won't even watch horror movies with me."

"That's because those movies are disgusting and you always want to kiss through the most disgusting bits of them," Charles says.

"Look," Erik starts to say, "there are different genres and--"

Charles shushes him, placing a hand over his mouth.

"Tell me a ghost story," he says, and in the moment between them, sitting in front of the fire, that close together with Charles' hand firmly pressed against Erik's lips, the atmosphere suddenly feels intensely intimate. CHarles' skin feels warm and prickly as he stares into Erik's eyes, challenging.

Erik grasps Charles' wrist and slowly lowers his hand away.

"Are you sure we can't make out?" he asks.

"Tell a good story and we'll see what happens," Charles says.

"Fine," Erik says. "Come here." He pulls Charles closer and hums under his breath for a moment, staring into the fire. "Okay, here we go."

***

So, it's late and it's dark and this couple has been driving for a long time. They're on a cross-country trip and they've been driving all day. The one guy, Francis, he's a scientist--a professor--and he's been trying to get the other to pull over for a couple hours now, but Max is the sort of guy who keeps going until he physically can manage it any longer, so it's late and it's dark and they finally pull off the highway into this town.

_"Ha ha, Francis the scientist, very funny. Let me guess, Max builds robots he likes more than people."_

_"Shut up, Charles, you're the one who wanted a story."_

_"You might as well have called them Charles and Erik."_

_"Just be quiet and listen."_

At least, it looked like a town from the highway. There were, you know, building and stuff they could see in the distance. There was no town name listed on the exit sign, though, and nothing telling them about what they would find off the exit--no signs advertising gas or food or hotels or even a restroom.

But, like I said, it's late and it's dark and Francis is grumpy and it's making Max grumpy and they just want to find somewhere to sleep for the night. They follow the road down from the highway and down a long, winding, dark trail until they reach the town. Or what should be the town.

It's a collection of buildings, at least. One looks like a gas station and others look like a strip of stores, but everything is dark and shuttered and looks like it hasn't been touched in years. They drive slowly down the main drag and don't see a single sign of life--not a rat, not a piece of litter on the street, not a single light.

It's weird. And it's spooky. But mostly they just want a bed, right? So they keep going until they see a motel and pull over.

The motel office is empty, but not just empty--abandoned. It's like someone stepped away from the desk to get something and never returned. There's a half finished crossword and an empty coffee cup and the chair angled away, like someone pushed it back to get up, like they planned on returning. Everything is covered with a layer of dust, but other than that it's pristine, like someone just hit pause on the whole room.

Francis is a little wigged out, obviously, but Max is still mostly grumpy, so he grabs the first key he can reach and tells Francis they can settle up later, if they're going to sleep, they should get to it, and hands Francis the key. The key to room 13.

_"It's always room 13, come on. That's not even original."_

_"I'm setting the atmosphere! It doesn't matter what room it is. It's room ten, okay? Whose story is this?"_

Max hands Francis the key to room ten. They go back out to the car and they get their bags and walk over. The door unlocks easily, but inside is just as creepy as everything else. There's a suitcase on the table that's open and half-unpacked. There are toiletries on the counter and the sheets and blankets are turned down, again, just like someone had gotten all ready for bed and then just...disappeared.

Now Francis is really wigged and just wants to go, but it's even later and they're even tireder, and Max points out that the whole reason they pulled off here was because there wasn't even any indication that there was a town coming up anytime soon. Francis concedes that's probably a good point, and they get changed and get into bed.

So, then, in the middle of the night--

_"Wait, they just go to sleep?"_

_"Yeah. What are they supposed to do?"_

_"Well, they're a_ couple _and they're based on_ us _so I suppose I expected that they would...you know. Have sex."_

_"They're kind of cranky and scared. Plus, maybe they've been together for like, ten years and they just don't have sex all the time any longer."_

_"What's_ that _supposed to mean?"_

_"Nothing! Just that, you know, when people stay together for a long time they don't have a ton of sex all the time anymore."_

_"Says who?"_

_"I don't know! Movies! Books! People!"_

_"Are you saying that if we're together for ten years we're not going to want to have sex any longer?"_

_"For fuck's sake, Charles, I'm just saying that these people, in this story, did not have sex, they just got into bed and went to sleep because they were tired from traveling, creeped out by the town, and cranky with each other! That's all! Can I keep going now?"_

_"Fine."_

So then, in the middle of the night, Max wakes up. He's not sure why or what woke him up. Francis is still asleep next to him, he doesn't have to pee or anything, but something woke him up from a dead sleep. The room's gotten really cold, too--colder than it should have. He sits up to grab the blanket off the other bed and he freezes.

Because he can tell there's something else in the room with them. He doesn't hear it or see it or smell it, but the hair on his arms stands on end. He knows they're not alone. And he has no idea what to do. He's afraid to turn around, to see whatever it is. He's afraid to look anywhere but right in front of him. If he sees it, he'll know, and even though he knows now...even though he's positive they've not alone, he doesn't know what will happen when he sees it. He might scream or faint. It might lash out at him. It might lash out at Francis.

He doesn't know what it is or where it is. All he knows is that it's here, sharing space with him. And it isn't human.

_"What was that?"_

_"Charles, come on, you asked me for--holy shit, what_ was _that?"_

_"There's nothing...I don't feel anyone, except Raven back at the house. There's no one there."_

_"...it's probably just an animal. Like a squirrel or something."_

_"Do squirrels come out at night?"_

_"Well, an owl or--_ shit _!"_

_"I want to go back."_

_"But the fire is still--SHIT. What is that?"_

_"I really don't want to know!"_

_"I'll just--we'll put dirt on it and water and...more dirt, put more dirt on it and I'll just stomp it--hey, wait for me! CHARLES!"_

***

Moira waits until she can't hear their shouting any longer and then takes off the psi-blocking helmet and shakes out her hair. She pulls her phone out and texts Raven, _Mission Accomplished. Incoming._

Psi-blocking helmets aren't cheap and Moira didn't sell out her best friend for cheap, either. She's not sure how much money Raven spent on this elaborate plot to get back at her brother for some stupid thing he did last Halloween, but she knows it was, for a fact, elaborate. She had diagrams and note cards and flowcharts. Raven had planned for every eventuality.

Moira shakes her head to herself as she picks back through the woods towards where she's stashed her bike, and pulls out her phone again. _Remind me not to get on your bad side,_ she adds. Cliches, but true.

_After tonight, I don't think I'll have to remind you,_ Raven texts back, followed by a winking kissy face emoji.

Moira doesn't think she will either, and gets back on her bike to head home.

The hardest part will be keeping quiet until Raven spills the beans. Especially because she really wants to hear the end of Erik's story.


	8. charles saves halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For **ourgirlfriday** : Prompt: Old dudes in love giving candy to wee mutants at the school!

"You're a crazy old man," Erik says, not for the first, or even the tenth, time tonight. In the course of their decades of personal history, it's not even in the first ten thousand times he's said it.

"I am not," Charles says. "I'm thoughtful and enterprising and kind."

Outside, another roll of thunder shakes the house to its foundation. Charles closes his eyes briefly, lips curling into a frown of concern. Although Erik isn't a telepath, enough years living with one in a house full of children of various ages has made him sensitive enough to pick up on when Charles is reaching out to comfort someone who's frightened. He feels momentarily guilty for being a grump, but in his old age at least it's expected that grumpiness is expected to frequently win out.

A moment later Charles opens his eyes and looks back at Erik pointedly.

"I'm _compassionate_ ," he says.

"You're dotty," Erik says. "Are we really supposed to hide in our bedroom all night in costume, giving out candy to children? Aren't there better things to do with our time?"

"We're not hiding," Charles says. Behind him, the door opens and Moira appears with a large bowl of candy, another bag stuff under her arm. "We're waiting for trick-or-treaters."

"When this holiday was explained to me many years ago, I recall one of the benefits beings that there were no children in the house. Now the house is full of children, including extra children, and we're expected to let them roam the halls unsupervised? You're dotty."

"Don't be an asshole, Lehnsherr," Moira says, depositing the bowl of candy on the nightstand Charles has moved next to the bedroom door. She drops the bag down next to it. "You know how much the kids look forward to Halloween and there's no way they could go out in that storm. I think this is a very sweet alternative and Charles is very sweet for coming up with it."

"Thank you, my dear," Charles says, taking her hand and squeezing it. "And thank you and your husband and your friends for agreeing to participate."

"'Agree' is probably a strong word when it comes to a couple of them," Moira says. "Nick's their boss. If he says 'put the international espionage on hold for a night to give out candy to mutant kids who are trapped inside because of the storm' they don't really have a choice."

"Still," Charles says. "It's lovely to see some enthusiasm." He glares at Erik. Another roll of thunder and Charles closes his eyes, once again reaching out to soothe.

"You're a traitor," he says to Moira. Then, snidely, "And don't you think you're a little old for that costume?" Head to toe black leather with a gun strapped to her hip. Given she spends her actual days working for a secret government agency, he would have thought Emma Peel was a little on point for a Halloween costume.

"No," she says. "Because I still look amazing in it." She turns in a circle to demonstrate and Erik has to concede that she does, she looks amazing, it's entirely unfair. He glances fleetingly down at his own slightly sagging stomach, covered by his Sherlock Holmes costume. "Plus, Nick is an excellent Mr. Steed."

"Moira," Charles says, wheeling himself back over to join the conversation, "it's almost time, so you should go. The children all have a map of which rooms are trick-or-treatable and I just checked--all the adults are ready. I've told the kids not to follow the map in order so there's not a horde decending on each room at the same time."

"Sounds good," Moira says. "There's more candy in the pantry. Natasha is stationed closest to the kitchen, but she has very, very good psychic defenses and her response to being startled is to punch first, ask questions later, so you might be better off asking Jean to fetch more. She's in the next closest room."

"Thank you," Charles says. "We'll see you when this is all over. Have fun!"

Moira leans down to kiss Charles' cheek. "You too," she says. She punches Erik's shoulder lightly in lieu of a kiss and disappears out the door, the heels of her boots clacking on the hardwood floors as she goes.

"This is silly," Erik says, but he knows that soon the game will be up and Charles will acknowledge that he doesn't really think that--that he does think it's sweet and thoughtful and kind, that Charles is being sweet and thoughtful and kind, that Erik is happy and proud of him for coming up with this alternative to soothe the students, so desolate when it became clear the nor'easter would be cancelling their favorite holiday.

"You're a buzzkill," Charles says, but some of those feelings must already be shining through, because he says it fondly, reaching out to squeeze Erik's hands just as they hear the first scramble of footsteps up to their door, followed by an excited knock.

Charles squeezes his hand again and then rolls over to open it.

"Trick or treat!" a chorus of students, bedecked in costumes, calls out to them. Erik approaches with the candy bowl.

"Oh, what wonderful costumes you have on!" Charles coos as Erik puts candy in each of their outstretched bags. "Jordan, your werewolf make-up is fantastic! And Amber, did you sew that dress yourself?"

"I like your Star Trek costume," one girl in a mask--Erik thinks it's Ana--tells him.

"And I like your Sherlock Holmes costume, Professor Lehnsherr!" Anthony, dressed as some sort of movie robot, calls out to him.

"Thank you," he says, and gives Anthony another piece of candy.

"Hey, that's not fair!" says one of the other kids.

"Nor is life," Erik says. "You just learned a valuable skill about being obsequious."

They leave amid grumbles as they chorus "Thank you!" and turn to walk back down the hall towards a different room. Charles is smiling at him--Erik can always tell.

"See, this won't be so bad," Charles says.

Erik leans against him, the affection belying the bark of his words when he says, "We'll see how we feel tomorrow when the house is a shambles."

"Happy Halloween, darling," Charles says, and then move forward again as another group of excited students approaches the door. Erik tries to hide his smile as he readies the candy bowl, but he's sure he fails and he's not too bothered about it.


End file.
